Ange
by Ange Tombe
Summary: Return once more to the Phantom's lair. Where Christine is found with a choice, one that will juggle the hearts of two men. To chose one will alter her every thought and dream, and she will suffer the consequences. (2004 Movie)
1. Chapter One

Summary: Return once more to the Phantom's lair. Where Christine is faced with a choice, one that will juggle the hearts of two men: to chose one for love, or for the sake of a life. To choose one will alter her every thought and dream, and together with her decision she will meet her consequences. (Based off of the 2004 movie version with Emmy Rossum and Gerard Butler.)

Rating: T for suggestive writing and language.

Genre: Angst, Drama, and Romance

Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera is not mine, nor are any of the characters mentioned.

**Ange**

Two sets of eyes watched her, both with deliberate concentration, tinged with expectation and horror. The young woman faltered, her long lashes catching the moist tears trickling down her suave cheeks. _How can I?_ She thought shivering against the cool air, _how could they? _

"You try my patience… make your choice," the man spoke huskily, his labored breathing filling her ears, feeling as if he was right next to her. The pain from this man was unbearable, and that was all he was. A man. His usual neat and well-presented hair was in mad disarray, plastered to his damp face.

"Christine…" Raoul groaned, resting his head tiredly against the old wooden gate, his bonds constricting, biting his flesh. The Vicomte de Changy was impatiently waiting; repulsion and puzzlement graced his feminine features. He glared at the man in front of him, his disgusting face shown for everyone to see. Appalled Raoul turned his head and again gazed feverishly at Christine.

Who did she love? Was it the young man who was an open doorway to happiness and past memories? Memories that would bring her joy, and remembrance, flushing her face with laughter, or was the man she was bound unto standing right in front of her. Her angel of music, who saved her from sorrow, taught her, loved her, and offered a passage of a new life.

Pushing her plump lips together she inhaled sharply, knowing she had to choose soon. Was Raoul's life worth refusing this desperate man? _Of course not!_ She snapped at herself. He was her friend, a guide through the light. But is that all he was, a friend? Yes, this was how it had to be.

Slipping her small feet into the water, Christine slowly made her way to the stiff man, whose grip on the rope loosened as she approached. "Pitiful creature of darkness, what kind of life have you known? God give me courage to show you, you are not alone!" Quickly she brought her lips to his, brushing them against his mouth, before she urged herself foreword closing the gap. Her slender fingers curled themselves in his hair and around his thick neck.

She felt so right pressed against his, molding to his muscular form. He responded his hand pushing her closer at the small of her back. She trailed her hand down his marred face, carefully caressing the burned skin. Pulling apart, she smiled slightly, starring at his shifting eyes.

His breathing increased again, he tore his gaze away from her and dropped the rope into the icy water. Motioning for Christine to leave him. "Take him, forget me, forget all of this. Tell no one of what you have seen, of the angel in hell! Go now, go now and leave me!" he shouted, hurriedly returning to his throne, his empire of music.

Christine rapidly went to Raoul and scratched desperately at the bonds around his wrists. "Christine, Christine," he breathed embracing her quavering form tightly. "Come we must make haste," he said, grasping her hand and darting to the small boat.

"No Raoul," she sighed dejectedly. "I cannot leave him," she finished catching her breath in her throat. She watched as his body froze, he pivoted around, his eyes downcast, his bottom lip trembling.

"Do not throw you life away because you pity him Christine! It is not right, even if you think it so in your eyes," he whispered hoarsely. Again he pulled at her arm, but she held her ground.

"Raoul I can not leave with you," Christine whimpered, fingering the white lace of her dress.

The young man raised his head now, his eyes shimmering with sadness. "You do not mean what you say. If you pity anyone please pity me! I love you, so much, and you will turn your head for some monster!" Raoul gasped reaching and grabbing her upper arms forcefully. "Is he what you chose? A life of pity?" his lips stretched into a snarl, the beautiful blond hair clinging to his soaking body.

"I do not pity him Raoul…I love him," she murmured cupping his cheek gently. Her finger swiped a single tear that fell down the side of his face. "And I love you," she added lightly, untangling herself in his weakening grip. "Please leave and do not think kindly of me. For I have hurt you, and I see it. Your pain saddens me more than you know," Leaning foreword, she placed a delicate kiss on his cheek.

Stepping backward, she watched as the wounded Vicomte de Changy took hold of the oar of the tiny boat and stood on it. He began to push away from the small cave, ever other stroke looking back at her, his mouth pressed into a thin line, his chin quaking, desperately trying to hold back his tears.

Stowing away to the land, Christine lifted her skirts and trampled onto the small house. Hurriedly she ran to _his_ room, hoping to god that he was still there. Breathing heavily, she sighed, seeing that the Phantom sat on his bed, singing softly to himself.

Slowly he turned to her, his eyes red as he scanned her face. "Christine I love you," he said, his once wondrous voice cracking.

She furrowed her arched brow, and walked to him uncertainly, not knowing how to approach him. His lips pursed fearing that she would reject him, and in a way bracing himself mentally. Instead, she showed him her pale hand, and on her ring finger she wore the ring he had given her.

A smile graced his lips; it grew while each second ticked away. He no longer looked like a troubled man, but a dreamy schoolboy. He held her hand in his, smoothing his warm, callused fingers over her chilled flesh. "_Ange…_" she sang moving closer to impending form.

He held her tightly, his head lying on the groove of her neck. He moved his lips against her tingling skin, pressing hot kisses. Christine tilted her head back, moaning lightly, enjoying the feel of his mouth on her body. A pained image of Raoul brought her from the intense feeling and replanted her feet on the ground.

"_Ange_ we must hurry, there are people after you, I heard them. They will harm you,"

Straightening, he brought himself to his full height, and watched her cautiously. "Yes, let me gather what I need," he left her standing in his room helplessly, ambivalent still disbelieving that she had decided to stay with the Phantom, her _Ange._

Crossing her arms under her bosom, she followed him and saw his ferocious movements, paper sheets flying, blankets tossed, and coins jingling together. He had shoved it all in a large black satin bag, which sat on his sawn shaped bag. He tried pressing his shirt down, pushing wild strands of hair back, and clearing his throat, aware that she was watching him with fascination. What she had failed to notice is that he had put his white leather mask on his face again.

"Everything else can be replaced," me spoke aloud, to her and to perhaps his raging nerves. Turning to her, he bent over grabbing his discarded coat and cape and began walking to her steadily. Unsure, almost fearing her, he leaned down and captured her lips with his. After a prolonged moment, he ended it, glancing at her breathlessly. "We should be leaving," he advised, draping his coat over her shoulders and leading her away to a row of mirrors he had lining the back wall.

Grabbing at candlestick he began banging it against the first mirror, then to the next, until he came to a larger mirror furnished it gold. Slamming the object into the glass, it shattered revealing a hidden tunnel that quickly dispersed into darkness.

Sliding his hand through hers he squeezed it gently, moving foreword into the darkness, enveloping all of her vision. She could see nothing, but instead felt the guiding hands of the Phantom leading her in the abyss. They were silent, they needed to be. In fear of the police mob tracking him, hoping to destroy her _Ange_.

The tunnel seemed to continue for hours, climbing higher and higher yet never reaching the surface. Her mouth grew dry; the hot air around them breathed through her thick chocolate curls making her uncomfortable. "_Ange_," she whispered throatily.

He never stopped or slowed his gait, but continued replying "Yes?"

"Where does this tunnel lead to?" she inquired, her movements slowing down as exhaustion began creeping up her long legs.

"Some where safe. Are you tired?" he questioned honestly, his rich voice rumbling, sending chills down her spin.

"Yes," she answered simply, holding the heavy overcoat close, inhaling his scent. There was a pause between them and she parted her lips to ask another question. "What is your name?"

He stopped, the wind rustling to a halt with him. Christine hardly could see him through the faint moonlight streaming through from somewhere. He observed her with a slight smirk on his face. "I was once called Erik. But that was a distant time ago. You may call me that if you wish," he responded, inching closer to her smaller frame.

"Erik," she said, testing his name on her tongue. Loving they way it sounded, short, yet it still rolled off fluidly. Erik seemed to enjoy her call him that as well, for he tensed and a look came over him, something she could not trace in the dim light.

"I am taking you to a house I own right on the outskirts of Pairs," he said "we only have a short way,"

Continuing down the narrow path, the smell of fresh air flew through the tunnel. The smell of rosebuds greeted them and a wooden door. Pushing it open, a bright blast of moonlights splashed over them, alighting the beautiful garden around them. Stepping onto the dew soaked grass; Erik lowered the bag and extended his hand to her.

Christine allowed herself to be helped out of the pit, her feet meeting the cool kiss of grass. She stood inches from him, her eyes meeting his gorgeously thick neck, tanned even though he spent long hours underground. The moon gleamed above him, skimming down his intimidating body, accenting every muscle seen.

She reached up tentatively, her fingers running through his hair. Their lips met, passion filled with longing, feverishly pulling eachother closer to the other. Ragged breathing and swollen lips, they stopped breathing heavily. "Thank you," Erik said running his hands up and down her back, lingering over breasts, before cupping her chin to mouth once more. "Thank you," he repeated, guiding her to the house, which sat only a few feet away, charming and elegant. Their home.


	2. Chapter Two

_**Ange**_

It was a large brick house, two stories, with a gothic format to it. Rounded small towers, and a tiny stone path leading up to the magnanimous French doors. Truly it seemed a type of house for a well-to-do aristocrat. Christine's breath caught in her throat, this was where she was to spend her time? The ends of her days with this…man. A small smile reached her plump lips, could she mange happiness with someone she hardly knew? It was humorous how life played these jokes on the bewildered occupants.

Erik watched her curiously, a smirk playing upon the corner of his mouth. "I needed another home, in case of such an emergency," he explained flatly. "And I would not worry about the police following us here. The path I just took you through was a labyrinth," he added arrogantly, placing his hand at the small of her back, her ushered her into house.

* * *

She had not slept and it was evident. Her large eyes harbored dark areas, lips a pale pink with exhaustion. She sat in what she gathered was the drawing room. A fainting couch was positioned to the lofty windows with massive scarlet drapes drawn back to allow the sunlight to enter the dark room. She sat upon it, still wrapped in Erik's coat, chilled with the morning air.

Glancing at the paintings hanging on the wood paneled walls, she noticed the consistency with their theme. All beautiful, vivid and lush landscapes a longing for something Erik desperately wanted. Beauty.

"You did not sleep well last night," his deep masculine voice stated, shivers erupting down her spine. Stiffening she turned to her left, watching him incredulously. He had changed from his _Don Juan_ attire and stood before her elegantly. A suite with a green scarf tucked into his vest, his mask was in place still, a habit perhaps.

"Yes, it was difficult," she admitted woefully tarring her gaze from his hazel eyes.

"I am going to the market in Rouen,"

"Pardon?" Christine asked honestly. People were looking for him all over Paris; Rouen was only a few miles away how could he be certain as not to be caught?

"Rouen," he said again "I am buying food and more proper attire for you,"

"Are you sure that is a good idea? There are police scourging Paris, looking for you and perhaps now for me. Rouen is still near, the authorities must have notified other branches."

Sighing irritably Erik looked at her with a harsher gaze. "They do not know what town I have departed to, nor if I am even still in Paris. I should find nothing to worry over," Turning his back to her, he ended the discussion. "You may come if you like," he offered craning a glance back at her.

Considering this, she stood her bare feet freezing at the touch of the marble floor. "I am not sure. I am worried someone would recognize me, and besides I have nothing to wear besides this," she replied dryly, lifting his coat from her shoulders and revealing the laced wedding dress.

"Then I will be returning in a few hours," he relayed quietly, pivoting back to her, almost hesitant to leave.

Christine smiled faintly, walking closer she stopped in front of him, uncertainly, reaching on tiptoes, she kissed him gently. "I will be here when you return," she assured him, obediently. "I will not flee from you,"

A grin pulled at his taut lips, bowing his head so as to hide the satisfaction written across his face, he planted a kiss upon her brow. "Thank you," Turning to leave, he glanced at her one more time, his footfalls padding down the long hallway to the front door, closing and locking it behind him.

* * *

Humming softly to herself, Christine pulled back her wild curls, and admired herself in front of the large mirror. Erik had yet to return, but she knew he would come back, sooner or later. She had found some old cloth lying around the house in a closet near the back. Christine had succeeded in dusting the second story rooms and rearranging the furniture that was light enough for her to carry.

Now she stood in her room, loveliest of all. A satin comforter, mahogany chests and wardrobes, Erik was quite the decorator. Yet even as she stood there, a pang of guilt ran through her blood. Raoul had been purged from her mind for the past few hours, and she felt horrible for it. True he had not passed but she felt it proper to mourn for him, his life, and her choice.

"You look fretful,"

Surprised she whirled around quickly, dropping her bundle of curls, and meeting the gaze of the tall man. "Erik," she sighed in relief, "you frightened me,"

"I noticed that you have been busy," he muttered with an amused face, observing as the rosy blush spread across her cheeks.

"Did anyone recognize you?" she asked worriedly, changing the aspiring mood.

Erik moaned in the back of his throat. "You are so persistent,"

"Well? Would you rather me not care of your errands? People are bound to notice a new occupant in their small little town," Christine quipped thoughtfully, stepping back when she saw a flicker of anger flash across his eyes.

"No, I actually met someone who runs the bakery, a charming elderly man who cannot see three feet in front of him. It is a wonder he bakes such wonderful croissants,"

A wry smile reached her lips, _so the man could joke_. "It is nice to know that you now have someone to talk to who has as much in common as you," she replied hotly, folding her arms under her bosom and waiting for his response.

His triumphant gleam fizzled out, and he managed to let his jaw hang slightly agape. "At least I made an attempt to familiarize myself with the town,"

"Are you implying that I have no interest to socialize and make myself known to the public eye?" she questioned sardonically, still quite amazed that she was carrying such a pointless conversation with him.

"Exactly,"

Holding her tongue, so as not to continue the frivolous hurl of insults, she nodded her head, and sauntered to the opposite side of the room and opening the lofty wardrobe doors. "What did you return with?" Christine implored docilely.

When no reply was heard, Christine turned around quickly and let out a gasp. "My God!" she breathed heavily resting her hand on her chest, frowning slightly at Erik who stood only a few inches in front of her.

Placing his gloved hands over her flushed cheeks, Erik held her gaze. "Why is it you decided to come with me?" he inquired leaning his head down and pressing his forehead against hers. The cool kiss of the leather mask rubbed her skin, burning it, but she did not push away.

"I love you," Christine said with a defining tone, of no question, and no uncertainty. "But it is you, who I am curious about. Do you reciprocate? Or is the only attraction the song of my voice?"

"No, of course not!" his hissed instantly, "I love you, since the day I first met you, through the months of teachings, and through you reuniting with the Vicomte de Changy!"

Her breath quickened, and stepped back, only to find the press of the half-opened wardrobe, a tear rolled down her cheek and she saw the pain in his eyes. _Why am I crying? Truly, this is not a moment for sadness A profession of love! Is this guilt? _

"No do not cry, I hate it when you cry!" he murmured desperately. "Did I cause this? Shall I leave?"

"Please do not leave," she answered, grabbing the collar of his overcoat and pulling herself closer to him. The knot in her stomach was still there, and for a moment the man in front of her was not Erik but a devastated Raoul. Pressing her moist face in to the contour of his neck, Christine held tight. Melting when his long, toned arms wrapped around her body.

"Never cry, I beg you not to cry. It hurts me; it pains your angel!" he muttered rapidly, trying to sooth her suddenly forlorn mood.

_ Do not ask such things of me. My heart is broken, and I can make no promises_. Erik continued to ramble on, making wishes, and pledging his undying love. But it never entered her mind, she was aware of his hot breath tickling her neck, the caress of his hands up and down her back and the consciousness of her weeping heart.


	3. Chapter Three

_**Ange**_

Bright, vivid sunlight splashed over the sea of flowers, the large garden sparkling with lucid color. Christine sat in the dry grass, holding a blossom close to chest, inhaling the lovely scent. Her puffy laced summer dress itched at her skin, how she hated lace. She was making a crown of flowers, intertwined by the stems, and wrapped around the inner part of her massive sun hat. Erik had refused to join her, claiming that he needed rest, since both of them had gotten little sleep the past two nights.

Humming a tune, Christine stood, dusting off the particles of dirt and green stems from her ghostly dress. It had seemed that when Erik had shown her the dresses he picked out, he had bought almost the whole store. She had dozens of dresses, new and expensive ones, lace, satin, and silk, she had been spoiled. Smiling she picked up the weaved basket and moved to another part of the garden where a different variety of flowers blossomed.

An iron arc was positioned over the towpath, completely carpeted with ivy, twisting and winding around the metal elegantly. "So beautiful," she murmured in a singsong voice and kneeled in front of a bed of roses. "These are for Erik," she informed herself letting the blush sink into her cheeks.

There was a gap between them; he blamed himself for her breakdown in her bedroom. And for that guilt had shut himself in his room, not wanting, or avoiding to see her. Christine felt terrible for that matter, Raoul had left her mind for the time, and she did not want to extend an invitation back. Clipping the blood red roses, they fell lightly into her heaving basket. Hopefully there were vases somewhere.

Sighing in the completion of her task, Christine turned, and pulled her sun hat off of her head, letting the curls tumble from atop her head. Grasping the handle to the back of the house, she grimaced at the thought of leaving the gorgeous scene before her, but she had to make amends with Erik.

Entering the cool house she closed the door, the only rays of sunlight came through the cracks in the door and from the drawn windows. Pushing herself from the door, Christine sauntered down the long hallway admiring pictures and various objects, which lined the walls. Placing her sun hat on the stair railing, she made her climb up the spiral staircase.

Erik's room was immediately to the right of the landing, and she stood before the impending door uncertainly. Reaching up, she gently rapped upon the wood. She heard a grunt and the rustling of sheets, a stumble, and dragging thumps till he reached the door. Opening the door slowly, Erik's hazel orbs locked onto her tiredly. "Yes?" he asked hoarsely.

He looked terribly awful, his hair tossed raggedly about, perspiration was beaded across his forehead, and his breathing was incredibly ragged. Surprised she dropped the basket of flowers and instantly brought the back of her hand to rest atop his brow. "Erik," she moaned, "you are running a fever," she muttered, slipping past him through the doorway, she grasped his hand and led him back to the obese bed. "Lie down," she ordered walking over to the basin of water sitting on top of his bearu.

Complying Erik dropped onto the bed, his fingers hurriedly pulling at the buttons on his shirt. "Christine, let me sleep,"

"You are sick Erik," she countered pouring the pitcher of water in the basin and grabbing the cloth hanging over the small oval mirror. "Do not be stubborn!" Sitting on the edge of the feather mattress, she placed her hand on the side of his neck, and reached over him, placing the cool cloth over his burning forehead.

He grasped her wrist gently, and moved it to where his mask still lay upon his face. "Would this bother you?" he interrogated honestly, his chest heaving uncomfortably.

"Erik," she cooed gently, feeling as though she was speaking to young child, "Your face does not bother me, not in the least bit. Why is it you do not believe me?" placidly, she pulled the white mask off of his cheek. Christine did not glance at the marred skin but held his gaze, running her fingertips down his unfeeling skin.

Erik said nothing, he held her hand in his, holding it to his cheek, "I love you," he said, a tear, rolled down his cheek and soaked into the cotton pillow.

"And I love you," she whispered sweeping her hand across his forehead and moving the plastered hair. "Have you eaten anything recently?" she asked softly.

"No,"

"I will be right back with a tray," she told in, wriggling her hand from his hold. Lifting up from the bed she shut the door, picked up the basket and made her way downstairs.

* * *

Erik had been sleeping the rest of the morning, occasionally calling out to make sure she was still there in the house. Christine desperately wanted to call a house physician, but Erik had insisted that it would only cause trouble. Sighing tiredly, she stayed next to him on the bed, watching as his chest rose and fell, the toned muscles twitching every once in a while. His fever had gone down, and his breathing reverted to an even pattern.

She was exhausted, unable to enter the land of dreams because of the never-ending guilt pulsing through her veins. All she need right now was to rest, but Christine wanted to stay near, in case Erik needed her attention. Yet slowly, she was giving into the unconscious desire to sleep, slumping foreword her head nestled in the contour of his neck. Her slender fingers laid atop his chest and her eyelids dropped closed.

* * *

Someone's hands were running through her locks, someone's breath was tickling her skin, someone's body lay next to hers. Fluttering open her eyes she met the stare of Erik, his mask was off, and for the first time, she was glad of it. A song was leaving his lips, ringing in her head. There was no exchange of words, and it was not necessary, the moment was peaceful and words might spoil it.

Christine pulled herself closer to his warm form, shivering slightly with enticement. The phantom pushed himself on his elbow, hovering over her, intensely holding her gaze, all the while inching his face closer to hers. Their lips met in a passionate kiss, her arms wrapped around his neck. His hand rested on her hip, pushing her closer to him. Christine parted her lips allowing his tongue to slide across her bottom lip.

Erik ended their kiss, panting, "Christine…"

"Yes?" her arms unwound themselves from his thick neck and dragging them down his bare chest.

"Thank you for caring for me earlier," he stated, moving his hand from her hip, and up her stomach, over her breast, and finally resting on her neck. Quickly removing his hand from her neck, he shied away from her body.

"Erik?" she inquired, sitting up with him and grabbing his muscular arm, before he left the bed. "Why are you leaving?"

"I do not want you to cry again," he rasped unfazed by her tug on his arm.

"Erik please, do not be blind. I am at fault for yesterday. I am selfish, do not blame yourself!" she exclaimed hurriedly.

"Why did you cry? I hate it when you cry," he sniveled.

"I wish to keep it to myself. It is not prudent,"

"Not prudent? I think this would be an appropriate time for you to relay," wriggling his arm from her grasp he sat waiting.

"Raoul, I feel guilt for leaving him. He haunts my mind everyday!" Christine spat out hopelessly her hands flying into the air.

"You still love him do you not?" She froze under his scrutiny. Lowering her head she refused to meet his gaze. "Christine?" he asked harshly.

"…Why is that important?"

"So you do? Then you came with me out of pity?" Erik snarled, glaring at her and unconsciously covering his scared face.

"You would accuse me of such a fault? Never in my wildest dreams, would such uncaring tyranny come from my actions!" arching her back heatedly she slid off of the bed, "do you not trust me?" with that departing question she slammed his door, furiously stomping to her bedroom down the hall.

Quickly opening her door she closed it, softly, fresh rivets of moisture trickling down her pale cheeks. Sobbing softly to herself, Christine padded to her bed, it was so inviting, sitting there unused, calling to her. Turning her head she moved to her wardrobe and selected her light pink kimono robe. _Why is it I cannot bring myself to leave? _But Christine already knew the answer to that question.

Parting the canopy that dangled over her bed, she crawled in, and secured the canopy closed. She sang a song to herself, loudly, maybe hoping that Erik would hear her, and in her heart she knew he would. It was the first melody she had sung onstage for him, her debut to the public eye.

_Think of me; think of me fondly,_

_When we've said good-bye;_

_Remember me once in a while please promise me you'll try!_

_When you find that once again you long, to take your heart, back and be free,_

_If you ever find a moment spare a thought for me… _


End file.
